Marriage On The Outs
by wee-me
Summary: In the darkness Beetlejuice contemplates his sleeping wife.


**Marriage On The Outs**

By Wee-Me

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Beetlejuice or any of his friends/loved ones; they are the creation of Tim Burton. I merely ask that if they live in my head they tell me a story now and again.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Not the story that ate my brain, this one just picked up the left over bits and ran with them. Llewlyn, here is a story, just not the one I expected. Please enjoy, and if you read, please review. Thank you.

**Premise **

The premise here is: What if the wedding had gone ahead? What would the marriage be like?

**Beginning**

These are his favorite times, when she's curled around him in sleep and he finally feels a little free. These times when he has ghosted in to lay on her _(their) _bed and she flings an arm or a leg over him as she settles herself. These few and far between nights that occur more and more often when he is more restless Out than he ever felt when he was In. These times when he feels that maybe his wife wouldn't run if he gave her half a chance.

They've been married almost a decade now; the anniversary is only a few months away and he is still without a gift. The tin or aluminum anniversary, he looked it up, and it doesn't matter. They never celebrate, not really. On the date, and sometimes in the days before and after, they all enact their little rituals, but it is no celebration. Barbara cries like Lydia had in fact died that year and she is the grieving mother of a long lost child. Adam hides in the attic with the music up and they all pretend not to hear him rage or cry. Lydia's parents make a token call, but their guilt keeps it short (and keeps them in Europe). The happy hubby skulks about the house mostly out of visibility and staying out of trouble to mark the occasion. And Lydia, calm serene Lydia, goes about her routine…wearing red. It is simply the way his marriage goes, everyone either mourns it or ignores it.

It's times like these, when the whole house is asleep, that he can enjoy his status as a husband. These are the only times he can hold his tiny pixie wife. Her body is soft in sleep against him and he can't bring himself to see if the same is true when she is awake. Outside of these nights the most intimate he has been with her was their tame wedding kiss. At her sixteenth year he couldn't stand the thought of her being afraid of his touch and now with her twenty-sixth he fears he will find revulsion. He lets out a bitter chuckle and pulls her more fully across his chest.

In the beginning he was more than happy to roam the world (over, Nether, and others) and only pop in for his first three anniversaries. On the third one, leather anniversary if they'd exchanged gifts, he found her living alone with the Maitlands. Her parents had swanned off to Europe. Dear old Chuck and Ditzy couldn't stand the idea of their monster-in-law any longer so they gave the house to the little missus and ran. It was laughable how upset everyone got when Lydia herself just squared her shoulders and went on with her life. A life with an undead husband that is never there. A life with few living friends and an at home job (computers and art or some such). A life that will last as long as he does unless he lets her go or moves on and, while he loves her beyond sense, he can't bring himself to do the right thing if it means he'll lose her. It is a life that she seems satisfied with because, really, what other choice does she have?

After that third anniversary, a shiny scarlet sundress and a dinner for one at the kitchen counter, he had taken to making more regular visits. At first she was wary of him and treated him only civilly, but then she got used to him. Where her aloofness had prickled its way over his skin her casual friendliness punched him straight through like a pin to a balloon. Now when he blustered through, the nearly once a week he let her see him (though he was there at least double that), she would greet him with smiles and treat him like a friend. She would stop whatever she was doing to ask him about his travels and play a good hostess like he was some old friend she hadn't seen in a while. She would laugh at his stories or shake her head while her actions made it plain that to her he was only visiting her life and would be gone too much to get too close to. Sometimes she would tell him how the media set had covered his more noticeable actions and he would watch her smile wishing that she was just happy to see her husband. Other times he would prod her until she told him about her life, but she rarely opened up because she was afraid he'd be too bored. It breaks his heart a little each time she hides herself from him, but fears her reaction if he were to tell her what she truly means to him.

So he travels alone doing just enough to have a story to bring home to the woman he loves and spends the rest of his time "away" thinking. He holes up most often under her basement so he can feel her live her life above. He absorbs her patterns, knows her routines, and feels her come and go from the big house on the lonely hill. Keeping an eye on her isn't hard, but it doesn't stop him from using all his power to do so. He watches over her no less devotedly than a dragon over its treasure hoard and a dragon has nothing on him when it comes to protecting his gem.

His best and most constant trick is to monitor her through the objects in her home- clocks, mirrors, and other miscellaneous odds and ends. He connects most easily to her ring, the symbol of their bond, because he has always had a gift with metals because they are of a like nature (volatile and ever-changing) and recognize that in one another. The tiny ruby on a bit of gold isn't good enough for her to wear as constantly or as proudly as she does, but he loves to see it sparkle on her hand. It means more to him than he can put into words that she wears his mark of claim on her for everyone to see. He feels the little metal circle and he always knows where she is and it eases his mind. He exists in a mild panic when he feels her slip it off (never longer than it takes to do some messy task or other, like her painting) that does not ease until he can speed to her and see it on once again. He feels as though he is robbed of breath he does not need until he can see the bit of gold back where it belongs with his own eyes; if she knew how often he came rushing home to stare at her hand she would probably try casting him back to the other side. He is terrified that one day she will take it off for good to leave it and everything that goes with it behind.

He knows that men want her, despite her perceived strangeness and wedded status, and have offered themselves to her. He also knows that she has rejected all offers of anything more than friendship, she tells them about her darling hubby she's completely devoted to and what a shame it is that he has to travel so much. It's really for the best that she isn't interested in adultery even in their marriage-that-isn't-really. He is certain that he wouldn't harm _her_ if she strayed, but he can't say the same about any fool that would touch what belongs to him.

No one, himself included, has treated her as a desirable young woman should be, or touched her as a beloved should be. No matter how much he longs to hold her, love her, and shower her with his affections he doesn't want to give her a concrete reason to run off. He has touched no woman since his bachelorhood, first for fear of repercussions and later (now) for lack of interest. He is a thief, a liar, and a rogue but he has been a true and faithful husband. He was not lying when he said he would do this marriage thing only once and forever, and while he is not fit to even darken her door he won't lose her over an infidelity.

It is also times like these in the dark with his lovely bride that he thinks about the scared girl she was when they met and how she could have been a punishment for the Higher Ups to hold in reserve, if only they'd known how she would affect him. She had looked so sad and lost that first time they spoke, it had done funny things to him and not funny ha-ha. She'd said she wanted In, but he knew she just wanted somewhere to belong or somebody to put down the business page or look around a hideous sculpture or whatever people in her life did and see a person who needed love and attention. Being In is after all is sometimes just saying you belong somewhere and it is a deep need for most breathers ('geists only belong where they see fit so In can be a prison). He'd actually been relieved when the bumpkins had talked her down, and not just because he'd wanted to marry her.

At first he was afraid his feelings for Lydia might be a trick, but he dismissed the idea almost instantly. No one in the Administration has the power to make him feel or believe anything (they don't have the Juice), honestly they can't even make him behave, but Juno has an annoying knack for knowing what will happen and especially what he will do. He is fairly sure that she knew about his nuptials before he'd even got the scam worked out in his mind. Before Lydia, Juno had always just blown in, induced his name to be said, and had him back in the Nether before her coffee had time to get cold. During his last Bound days she was conspicuously absent (she even missed his wedding; he would have made her his best man or best maid, whatever). Maybe the tough old broad knew what he was stumbling into and wanted to see him finally get knocked down a peg or three, she certainly got there once it was done and undoable. Based on the look she gave him, and still does when he sees her, she knew what this whole thing would mean ages before he even knew there was a thing.

In the darkness Lydia snuggles still closer, her head settling against his shoulder and breath sliding over his throat. Absolute torture this is and he wouldn't trade it. He isn't entirely sure how she can sleep so soundly with him here, but there's that old saying about gift horses and all. She keeps her room black as Death's shadow when she sleeps, but he lights it up with his energy like full moon light spreading to fill in all the darkened spaces. Bare to the waist, as he is now, the light is almost bright enough to read by and Lydia's own pale skin reflects it back like a mirror (excepting the energy that she absorbs). Her inky tresses are long enough they brush her hips when she stands and they spread across them both as she moves about in sleep. Her locks cover his lighted skin in places and leave him looking as cracked and fissured on the outside as he feels on the inside.

If he had known how marriage would be he might have done a few things different, like romancing instead of frightening, but he would not undo it. The moment he decided on the girl she was for his wife he'd known it was the right move, he just didn't know how right. When she'd called him out for help he wanted to dance with glee so near he was to getting Out. Once his part of the deal was done he had held her close fully expecting her to balk and attempt to back out, but she showed him she was made of tougher stuff than the silly damsel he expected. With a grace and dignity he was sure must have come from her real mother she had removed her arm from his grasp and stood strong and composed at his side throughout the ceremony not wavering once.

She had been so calm, following the clergyman's instructions even as her parents cried out and the Maitlands tried to intervene. She barely winced at seeing her ring removed from its former owner and at their wedding kiss, said her "I do" without prompting from him, and didn't cry at all. He was proud of her and even more so when she told Juno and her four parents "a deal's a deal" with a shrug of her little shoulders. He was free, he had a fabulous little wife, and no one could send him where he didn't want to go. He had thought that day he would never want for anything more, but now… Now gaining Lydia's love is his Holy Grail.

He realizes his precious time is coming to an end as the clock shows that it is early morning already. Soon enough she will start stirring from sleep and he will have to leave her to her day. She is nearly as constant as the tide about her rest and he has to leave before any touchy questions arise. He will have to hide himself out of the visible spectrum or go Out so she can go happily about her routine. He will have to spend the next eighteen or more hours wanting to pull her from her work and hold her while a weight in his chest robs him of breath he doesn't need but desperately tries to catch. He will think of a thousand ways to romance her and a million ways he is going to lose her. He'll ponder over the trap he laid and caught himself so tightly in. most of all he will hear her words "I wanna get In" and feel them echo in his soul.

He is Out scot-free, but it isn't enough, not when he has found his In. He has found in Lydia a place to belong, somewhere he actually _wants _to belong. If she only she would have him, let him into her life and her heart, he would have everything. Tears roll down his cheeks and through him as he ghosts himself out of the only place he wants to be, his wife's waking arms. Even as his tears fall like dewdrops on her hair his wife begins to wake and he leaves a kiss on her temple as he whispers a plea before he goes.

"Let me In, Lydia, oh please let me In."

**End**

AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: This story woke me up at 5am and made me cry, not my favorite combination. I don't know if it is done yet or not. Please let me know what you think of it.


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